


And While We Wait for Spring, We Grow

by Order_Of_The_Forks



Series: It’s Gonna Feel Like Heaven When We’re Home [2]
Category: Anne of Green Gables - L. M. Montgomery, Anne with an E (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-06-30 21:34:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15760143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Order_Of_The_Forks/pseuds/Order_Of_The_Forks
Summary: Gilbert Blythe was prized for his patience.





	And While We Wait for Spring, We Grow

Gilbert Blythe had always been a waiter.

All throughout childhood he was prized for his patience, his ability to wait his turn to read out loud or retrieve his milk from the brook. When he grew older, he never cheated someone out of a bet or a dare. He just waited for the odds to turn in his favor and then he struck. This led Gilbert to be an unbeatable dare-er, as well as both revered and detested amongst his peers. 

But Gilbert was happy to sit back and let the world turn, biding his time for the rotation that best suited him. 

~

_  
When Anne shaved her hair short- as close to the scalp as humanly possible, it seemed- the Avonlea schoolhouse was ablaze with rumors of illness and lice and bad orphan genes. Gilbert stayed away from these rumors, as they got no one closer to answers that honestly, were nobody’s business in the first place. When he told Billy Andrews this, the look he received rivalled the sneers and snickers Anne had been getting all week._

_Her hair grew back slowly and for a while it hovered as a cute pixie, coming in curly and thick. When her hair was long it was stick-straight and didn’t have a bit of flounce. But when it was short it had an adorable, charming air that almost challenged the twin braids that Gilbert had grown so fond of. It was glossy and sleek and almost seemed a darker, deeper color than it was before; it might even be described as an auburn._

_When Anne moved her hair to whisper gaily to her friends or shook her head patronizingly at something Gilbert had said, her curls moved and bounced with her. Gilbert wanted nothing more than to run his hands through that hair, but he knew whenever he got close to her head Anne shrieked and slapped him involuntarily, as if he was still paying penance for a crime he committed when he was young and headstrong and didn’t know a thing about love.  
_

~

Gilbert had been all around the world; he had seen new people, did new things. He had even eaten a mango, for Pete’s sake. How many Avonlea folks could claim that? He had seen more than they could ever know. No matter what Mrs. Rachel Lynde said, he had earned the right to pursue the things he desired. There were things that he knew.

He had seen the way grey eyes glinted in the firelight. He had smelled hydrangea blossoms in the cool air of an oncoming storm and turned away. He had walked in perfect time with feet that wore work boots much like his own, but that kicked up dust until the world was whirling with hot air and Gilbert had no choice but to close his eyes to keep out the dirt, clutching the hand closest to him to remain on the path. He had canned peaches and dipped candles and carded wool and not complained a whit, even if only to see the disheveled and work-worn face of the redhead who entertained his highest fantasies. 

But there were things he had yet to learn; yet to see. 

There would come a day when the labor would end fruitfully, with a kiss goodnight and a promise to come calling tomorrow. There would be a day when the boots next to his no longer walked restlessly but instead would meander along beside him at perfect peace. He knew that one day those grey eyes would meet him and he would see himself reflected in them; his love shining right back at him. 

~

_  
Miss Josephine Barry, who had grown old and forgetful but had never shrugged aside her Anne-girl, had invited the latter to her friend’s country home with the promise of fresh ice-cream, hearty jaunts in the woods, and archery lessons. Anne’s first choice as a plus-one was, obviously, Diana, but as she and all the other girls were away on some affair Marilla deemed inappropriate for a becoming young woman, Anne begrudgingly turned to Gilbert, or be subjected to a week of lonesome activities. Of the many memories that bloomed that week (most infamous being the sought-after cow story), both Anne and Gilbert’s was of the archery. Anne cherished the bullseye she had gotten after only five shots beforehand, and while Gilbert relished the same memory (he hadn’t gotten a bullseye, even after shooting twice as many arrows in the end), his reasonings were different. Anne had shot five arrows and was clearly becoming frustrated at her fantasy of an archery suivante-princess not becoming quite true. As she nocked her sixth arrow, pointing it stoically at the target and holding herself in a way that was both cute yet inaccurate to the rules of archery, from behind her, Gilbert offered a small but genuine, “you can do it, Anne.”_

_Anne turned her head ever so slightly and in that moment, while her attention was elsewhere, her fingers slipped from the string and her arrow sang through the air and found its mark with a satisfying “thunk!”_

_As soon as the arrow had hit, Anne whirled around, dropping her bow and bounding over to where Gilbert was standing and embraced him, forgetting both societal conventions and the fact that they had graduated from a bitter schoolyard rivalry only a few months before._

_“I knew you could do it, Anne-girl,” Miss Barry offered serenely, but it was Gilbert’s soft, “me too,” that split her face into a smile that rivaled the sun.  
_

~

Once upon a time, as a young boy, Gilbert had asked his father about his mother. He had heard about her death, of course, and his own breech birth, but he wanted to know more. He wanted to know about her life. 

John Blythe had sat back in that old chair of his and sighed. With a contented smile he had spun a marvelous tale for his son, one that rivaled Shakespeare. Of love and loss and young infatuation. 

“When you love someone like that,” he had finished, pulling out his pipe with a satisfied grin on his face, “all you can do is wait.”

That very mantra had evaded Gilbert for years. All throughout his younger years he had puzzled over it. That was, until he had met Anne.

This was when he truly understood. This was when his years of patience and diligence all stacked up into rule book that he promptly disposed of. As soon as the new girl refused to look at him, Gilbert had flipped his lid and mocked her; he then continued to do what he had never done before- he apologized. 

As Anne had decided to never speak to him again, Gilbert once again opened up the can of worms of what his father had told him.

~

_  
When Diana French-braided Anne’s hair for the first time, Anne cried. Diana had learned how to French-braid at finishing school, and she was convinced it would suit Anne’s hair better than her simple twin braids. Gilbert didn’t think it looked too painful, but he could tell by the way Anne was squirming under Diana’s grasp that her hair was being manhandled in a way that could only be explained with the colloquialism of “beauty is pain.”_

_“I’m really sorry,” Diana had said. “I was taught to do it tight. A girl named Bugsy did my hair, and she wore pants.”_

_Anne grimaced. “Bugsy is my new ideal.”_

_“Are you crying, Annie?” Gilbert said, half joking._

_Anne shook her head so as not to disturb Diana’s nimble fingers, but tears had gathered in her eyes. For once in his life, Gilbert felt guilty to be a man. That he would never have to wear a corset or heels or have his hair pulled out from the roots. He wanted to apologize, wanted to tell Diana to stop, wanted to kiss Anne and distract her from the pain._

_But then Anne reached out and gripped Gilbert’s hand so hard he thought it would leave bruises, and Gilbert was struck dumb.  
_

~

“When you love someone like that,” John Blythe had said, “all you can do is wait.”

Gilbert truly loved her like that. For all of his life Gilbert had maintained a level head. He had always known what to say. He may have done stupid things, but he always had the words to get him out of a tight spot. 

However, there was one girl who was able to ruin Gilbert’s composure for the rest of the day. There was nothing he could do except bite his tongue and try and refrain from going into cardiac arrest in the middle of a conversation. All he could do was wait and hope that Providence would bring them together, as he had heard Mrs. Lynde and Marilla say. 

Anne was… incomparable. She was the ‘someone like that’ that Gilbert’s father had mentioned so many years ago. She was a sharp-witted, sharp-tongued, slate-wielding maniac with a knack for words and the worldview of a fairy queen. Overseas, Gilbert had tried to describe Anne to Bash in a futile attempt. There was simply no way to sum up her entirety in mere words. Gilbert knew Anne would be able to do it, he had no doubt. But even as her “intellectual equal” (a straight lie if he had ever heard one) he knew he had no chance of ever being able to wholly capture her. He could compare her freckles to stars, her hair to fire, but was that true?

~

__  
When Anne brushed her fingers over the white-and-yellow blisters on his thumbs, earned from afternoons of chopping logs in the fields, tutting over his refusal to wear work gloves, Gilbert waited. Her hands were different than Diana’s, whose he felt when she tried in vain to style his hair or grabbed a slate-pencil from him on the rare days she left hers at home. Her hands were kept soft by moisturizers from Paris and ladylike businesses, unlike Anne’s, whose hands were calloused and grisled from years of labor. He liked Anne’s more. Her hands had been places, unlike Diana’s, whose hands had only seen crochet needles and the insides of kid gloves. Gilbert secretly revelled in the soft touches of Anne’s hands. He longed to cradle her calloused fingers in his own.  


~

Gilbert had heard through the grapevine that Mrs. Rachel Lynde had once confided that Gilbert simply “worshipped the ground Anne walked on.” And, consequently, that she treated him like a dog. 

The day before the Christmas panto and three days before Christmas Eve, Gilbert encountered Anne and Diana walking gaily to the church, their arms laden with dresses and capes. Anne had a pair of shoes with their laces knotted together hung around her neck, and they swung from side to side as she walked. With all her furls and petticoats, Diana seemed to be all fabric; a walking boutique. Anne looked a simple picture, and Gilbert had never been more infatuated. 

At one point Anne, unbeknownst to her, dropped a red silk scarf on the road and kept walking, chatting on as if nothing had happened. Gilbert, although he was headed in the opposite direction as she, doubled back and picked up the scarf, trailing along behind them and trying to get their attention; he never was able to get a word in edgewise until Diana turned around and slapped Anne’s arm in shock. 

She stopped and Gilbert handed her the scarf. 

Anne gestured for him to put it on top of the pile and he obliged. Diana seemed to expect him to join the two, but Anne simply nodded primly and said a short, “thank you, Gilbert,” before continuing on. 

Gilbert watched them walk away. Mrs. Lynde could talk all she wanted, but Gilbert had made up his mind. 

He wasn’t waiting anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> hey hey hey so sorry to like... not post for a long time i was away at camp rip  
> please comment it makes my heart happy  
> please join my anne discord 'tis
> 
> https://discord.gg/eF3Udux
> 
> thank you and have a nice day


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